


Look Through My Window

by CurlyTuft



Category: Warehouse 13
Genre: Angst, F/F, Femslash, Love, Romance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-04-30
Updated: 2014-05-13
Packaged: 2018-01-21 10:27:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,079
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1547348
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CurlyTuft/pseuds/CurlyTuft
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A four-chapter story with Helena and Myka, taking place in the fourth season. Helena copes with the solitude after hunting for the Astrolabe.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Some Place to Go

_Saturday_

Once my packing is complete, I pick up my book to sneak in a chapter as Myka finishes putting away her belongings. I love seeing her so at ease, even if she's just mundanely packing items into her small carry-on bag, brushing her hair, making trips between the bed (where her bag is) and the bathroom. Occasionally, I turn around to watch her think through the process of packing, trying to get everything to fit into the small bag just so. Each time I catch myself watching her, it takes a moment for me to pause and return to my reading, once again becoming easily absorbed in my non-fiction book.

As I quietly and calmly sit, perfectly minding my own business, the book is pulled from my grasp. I am slightly perturbed when I look up to see Myka with the book in her hand, no more than five paces from me on the other side of the room. I chase her over toward the shut bathroom door, the clunk of my boot heels echoing along the hardwood floor. "I was trying to read about the Weimar Republic; such a naughty time." I mention as I approach.

Myka just stands there with her back to the door, gazing at me. A high-pitched chuckle escapes her throat and she directly looks me in the eyes. "Oh really?" My heart catches an extra beat when I realize how close we are to one another. Over the past few days, closeness is something that we have fully embraced, quite literally, in fact. To me, it's still a new and thrilling sensation to be so near one another, even if she did rouse me from my quiet reading time on the sofa. I take a hearty gulp and reach for the book, which I am fortunate to prise from her grasp and toss onto the nearby bed. Now free, my hand then reaches up to Myka's face and caresses her cheek. She audibly gasps at the contact and emits a low moan, closing her eyes as my fingers stroke up and down; her hands then drift to my hips and hold me in the exact spot where the side of my blouse has ridden up, exposing a patch of my fair, freckled skin. It takes Myka a moment to gather herself before she can say anything. She stands there, hands on my hips, holding me in place, looking into my eyes for what seems like an eternity.

"Myka?"

"Hmmm?"

What is she doing…

Myka slowly releases one hand from my hip and casually leans over to the side of my neck to nibble on the sensitive skin, lightly stroking the side of my face with her thumb. Her other hand rests against my hip, precariously trying to keep her balance. She completely distracts me; I'm fairly certain she can actually see where I completely lose my train of thought with her lips on my neck.

"What are we doing?" It comes out as a whisper against the ear of hers that is directly in front of my lips, "I mean, I think I know, but I mean, seriously...what are we doing?" This is easily the most incoherent I have been in my rather extended lifetime. Not that I mind what she's doing, but I just want to know what has (finally) brought this about. She doesn't respond, only kisses the side of my neck again and indulges in observing me once more forget myself. She firmly grasps my hips with both hands and uses her advantageous strength to flip me around against the door, all the while peering straight into my eyes and never breaking contact.

"These past couple of days, I've been waking up in bed next to you. You're next to me, holding me and touching me everywhere a romantic partner should. Okay, almost everywhere or at least pretty close. I'm holding you and subconsciously touching you the way I want you to touch me. You usually have on a tank top that shows me so much of your breasts, you might as well just sleep without a top on. Then your breathing is so heavy and uneven, I know, without a single doubt, that you too are totally turned on all pressed up against me. I breathe in the scent of you against me and it's the sweetest scent I have ever smelled.

"You wake up, clean, get dressed. I do the same. We get breakfast and sit outside on the terrace where we admire the quiet and talk about a whole variety of interesting things. We reminisce, laugh and just talk about our lives. We take walks, read, go get coffee, run errands: we do normal things together, couple-ly things together. It makes me feel loved and normal for once. You'll wear these really sexy scarves (like this one) that are so long I just want to pull you towards me so I can kiss you, and then think it's convenient that you wear them because then you could easily hide the bite barks I leave. I have to admit, I was really enjoying nibbling on your neck a moment ago.

"Over the past couple of days, twice, not once but twice, have I been told by some random person what a sweet couple we are. Remember yesterday? When we were out for a walk and you asked me what that guy wanted? Yes, he was looking for directions and then, once he got them said that we make an incredible couple and it's so clear how much you love me. And the other time was when I was checking on our dinner reservation last night: the maître d asked if we wanted a romantic corner table so I could propose to you. I said yes, partly because, yes, it was romantic, but also because I love being somewhere I can focus only on you. It's clear to people around us, even those we don't know, that we are in love, Helena.

"You wrap us up in a blanket and we snuggle while we read or watch movies. Your legs get all tangled in mine, my body rests pushed against your back, my chin is on your shoulder. It's...heaven...to be holding you like that, to feel you next to me. Even better is when you turn around and curl into me, letting me hold you. I love when you do that.

"I don't want you to think you're some exception: you are who I love. I touch your face, your legs...your breasts, your hair, your stomach. There's no scratchy coarse hairs or dry skin, only you all warm and soft in my hands. It feels so right when you're in my arms, and I know I'm nervous about making the leap into something more with you; however, I rationally know there really isn't anything for me to be nervous about when it comes to us. I am comfortable with you and, yes, terribly in love.

"I guess it's my worry about disappointing you. You got that big, sexy brain of yours that I admire, yet am completely intimidated by. You're smart and witty, an excellent raconteuse with anyone about anything. You speak French beautifully and seem to know a whole other slew of languages in there. You challenge me. We bounce ideas off each other, we joke, we talk about things we'd like to do together...but what is that? In which capacity are we in each other's future? I'm not sure where this is going and what we are. I'm used to well-defined guidelines. I can just feel myself falling into this completely unrealistic pattern of domestic life with you. I mean, it _could_ be real, but I don't know. I don't think you know either. Basically we're a couple in all but name, we've been acting like we are. In fact, we always kind of have been acting like that, now I think about it. Regardless of all those confusing thoughts running through my brain, I'm in love with you, Helena."

The corners of my mouth turn upward into a gentle smile. I'm too overcome with her honesty, with her ability to present it all before me as her hand continues to firmly grip the sides of my hips. My arms shift to go around her shoulders to pull her closer to me; Myka can see that I'm looking for words. For a long time, all I can do is look at her with the utmost love and affection, completely content that we are finally making progress with one another. "To think I had to wait a century to meet someone like you. This is you and me, this is how we are, this is who we are: two impossible souls meeting at a perfect moment. I love you. I love everything about you." I whisper. I look down between us to assess the lack of space between our bodies. Myka's eyes follow mine and then promptly return to my face with a grin.

"And the other aspects of, what would you say…" Myka looks down again as she searches for her own word, "...love?"

"We shall get there; however, I must admit to a certain love of flirting with you...and your breasts."

Myka smiles at the compliment and licks her lips. "You seem to have breasts on the mind today; although I think it's getting to be contagious." Myka reaches forward and clenches the bottom of my scarf, pulling me even closer to her body, but not quite touching me. Her breath ghosts across my cheek and I know fully well that I am breathing deeply with her proximity. "Kiss me." I lunge forward, pressing my mouth to her wet lips. The tiny hairs at the back of my neck raise on end with the sensation of our lips converging. Still grasping the bottom fringes, Myka pulls the sides of my scarf around the back of my body and then rests her hands above the small of my back, crushing herself completely against me with arms encircling my waist. As we kiss and I feel her hands pressing against my back, both spots tingle and send jolts of energy between where we are connected at the lips and those hands around my back. I go to kiss the side of her neck and Myka allows me to nibble along the nape, much like she did to me when we started this whole endeavor. The side of her neck smells most like her; it's the scent I completely associate with Myka.

"114 years…" Myka trails off.

"I have wanted this since I met you."

"Hmm, before or after I put those handcuffs on you?"

I stop to ponder a moment. When did I realize my attraction to her? For that matter, when did I realize I love her? I simply cannot remember a time where I was not drawn to her. "Before. I do love a loaded gun pointed at me by a certain curly-haired vixen."

Myka's hands let go of the scarf and trail down to my two back trouser pockets. "C'mon, get your bag and let's go home." she says, pressing her fingers inside and pushes me even further into her as she captures my mouth once again. My inclination for Myka's kisses are something to which I could easily grow accustomed.

Besides, I don't think we're heading out anytime soon.


	2. Chapter Two: Someone to Meet

_Friday_

Repetitive knocks rise me from my sleep, I sit upright with a jolt, trying to determine the origin of the sound. When I realize it's someone at the door, I climb out of bed and do a quick pat-down to make certain I'm clothed. It's quite easy to find oneself in an odd state of undress in the middle of the night when no one else is around. Looking out the peephole, I see Myka standing there, looking around, gazing down the hallway on each side; without hesitation, I open the door to greet her. Her hair is flat, her eyes tired, her shirt wrinkled. She holds a rather worn leather duffle bag in her left hand, dragging her arm down so that it nearly reaches the floor. She looks exhausted and anxious standing there before me.

"I know it's, like, 2:10, and you were probably in the middle of a deep sleep, but I was able to get out sooner than expected." It takes a moment, but I pause before stepping to the side to usher her into the room, locking and latching the door behind her. Myka goes over to the reading chair to set down her bag and stands there motionless. Neither of us shifts, we only keep our distance and look at one another. I'm genuinely pleased to have her here with me, even if it is after two o'clock and I was sound asleep.

"I'm glad you came, Myka." I declare with a quick nod.

Myka looks at me and smiles tentatively, but her gaze soon moves back to her feet and then back up at me. She struggles with what to do next. It's apparent that she is exhausted, her eyes shifting and blinking as token efforts to keep herself awake. Those eyes stop moving at one moment, finally focusing on inviting bed next to her. "There's, uh, only one bed."

I glance over at the large king-sized bed with the rumpled sheets where I'd been sleeping. I quickly walk over and move my pillows from the middle to the left side and straighten the bedding as best I can. Having more than one bed in the room wasn't something with which I concerned myself when she asked to come here. "Yes, is that a problem?"

"No," she replies quickly, "why don't you go back to sleep? I'm just going to clean up and then come to bed."

"Alright." I say, turning down the covers again. I shift myself and the pillows into a more comfortable position, leaving some pillows (and space) for Myka on the other side. All the while of adjusting the bedding, Myka stands and peers at me. She studies the contents of her bag one more time, pulling out some clothes, removes her cotton trench coat which is tossed onto a chair, then tumbles to the floor. We stand watching it happen, that jacket falling, but neither of us budges. Myka doesn't even bother picking it up, merely shrugs and heads into the bathroom. I don't touch it either, only leave it for her to get when she's ready.

I hear Myka move around in the other room, the shower runs, the tap goes on, a snap of elastic from some garment. It's the first time in a long time I've heard the typical sounds of another person in my space. Knowing that it's Myka makes me smile. Just from the sound of the shower, I can tell she's not yet under the water, perhaps it's her footsteps against the tiled floor that I hear going back and forth. She paces a couple circuits, then stops, then recommences. Myka does this at least five times before I finally hear her pull aside the curtain and get into the shower. Once she gets in the shower, I tuck myself into bed and fall asleep in no time.

Myka's here and I feel at peace.

* * *

By the time I wake in the late morning, we're what's referred to as "spooning" (learnt that one from a sitcom), legs entwined, our bodies pressed closely together and I'm curled facing the wall. I contentedly sigh and drift between sleep and consciousness to the pleasant sounds of Myka breathing gently into my ear. There are long fingers slid under the hem of my tank top, resting on my breast. Not that I'm complaining about the hand on me; it is surprising what Myka's sleepy subconscious wants to do though. I remain turned away from her, but she continues to softly breathe in my ear and then pulls me closer with that wandering hand beneath my shirt; I never knew she could be so possessive in her sleep. The pleasure of having Myka's hand so intimately pressed to me makes my mind swirl; it's been an impossibly long time since someone has touched me like this. I have no idea how we became so entwined in the middle of the night, certainly internally questioning if Myka has any idea what her roaming hands get up to whilst sleeping. There's nothing like waking up in the morning with a clever, beautiful woman in one's bed, especially with someone as wonderful and important to me as Myka. I'm far too at ease and warm to care about the wayward hand upon me and although it would be so easy to disengage her hand, but she's truly perfect just where it is. Her left arm stretches across me, her hand cupping my breast as her fingers lazily toy with my nipple, slowly tweaking and twirling; from what I can tell, even without turning around, Myka is still sleeping. Again, not that I am bothered in the least, but I do find it challenging to not lose myself with her fingers dancing over me. I need to pull myself back, for both our well beings.

"Myka?" I softly murmur as I turn onto my back. I determine that my moving will jostle her fingers from my nipple when her entire arm actually just drapes across both my breasts trying to get comfortable. She still curls into me, arms protective, intent on securing me to her body and her shut eyes firmly. "Myka?" I say her name once more, a bit louder and more pronounced.

Myka's eyes suddenly open wide as she realizes where she is, vaguely comprehending what is happening. "I was doing that thing with my hands and the wandering and the groping and the tweaking, wasn't I?" 

I express nothing, just clear my throat and glimpse her through strands of hair covering the side of my face. She doesn't move her hand at all, it rests on me, making my breathing become a bit more sporadic and deep. "Delightfully so." 

She blushes, painfully obvious with her rosy cheeks compressed against the bleached hotel linens. "Sorry, I have a tendency to..." 

Ah, so she's no novice: she's done this sort of thing before! I want to kiss her, and badly, I might add. There's no way I could do that, especially not when she is so unsure of herself. She's so exquisite, I keep telling myself, even as she thinks through every word and action. A second later, Myka gathers her thoughts and retracts that stray hand from my body, bringing it to its new home underneath her pillow. "Sorry about that."

"No worries."

Myka pauses for a moment before continuing the conversation. "I may have been like that all night too, but I turned over and -"

"Honestly, Myka, it's alright." She doesn't make eye contact with me, only adjusts her head and hands against the pillow. From the quick gestures of tucking her hands more firmly under the pillow and making her neck more supported by said pillow, I immediately note how timid she is. Not at all forward as she had been in her sleep, (pleasantly) groping me, I might add. "It felt very nice to be perfectly frank."

She looks at me and nervously smiles, "Really?" I nod my head, "Good morning."

"Good morning." I sweetly reply.

* * *

It's not until lunch that we finally decide to get up to walk around town. We make our way into one of the city's oldest districts, full of brick structures and Edwardian homes that easily reminds me of before. We wander around the cobblestone streets, looking at the buildings and "window shopping," as Myka calls it. She alludes to a "quirky" bookshop around the corner from where we're scheduled to have dinner, so we set out to spend some time there before eating.

It would be simple for me to wander off to any corner of a bookstore and get utterly lost, but I stick by Myka. This bookstore is cozy, reminding me of specialty shops I used to go to back in London. This small place specializes in every day books, but it's the atmosphere that gets me. Wooden shelves as high as floor to ceiling, bright track lighting, inviting sofas and even a resident cat who makes her presence known as soon as she hears our footsteps coming into the store. Myka meanders over to the travel section, looking through an assortment of titles with places about which I have (mostly) only read. She pulls a couple books from the shelf and pulls me over to a small couch where we sit together.

"How do you vacation? Museums? Beaches? Urban exploration? Hiking? Adventures?" My blank stare must give away the fact that I honestly have no idea. It's been a very long time since I have gone anywhere for the sole purpose pleasure. There's always been an artifact or some pressing duty that requires my attention. Myka must sense the confusion on my face. "When was the last time you went anywhere for fun, Helena?"

I think, yet nothing comes to mind. Work has always seeped into any kind of personal time for me. Myka only continues to get my blank expression.

"Okay, here, look." Myka opens a thin volume with brightly colored print on the cover and a Métro stop. "How about Paris? Museums, great food, parks to wander around in..."

"Memories..." I reluctantly interject.

"Yes, but we could go together."

"Perhaps." Myka shuffles through to another book, picking up something with a sandy beach and crystal waters. "How about that?" I say and point at the picture.

"Ahh, Belize. I've read you can rent an island for a week with a bed on the beach or under the stars, quiet, no one else around you. In the villas, there are even see-through floors looking down into the water, private chef, whirlpool, outdoor showers -"

Sold. "That one." I repeatedly point at the cover. "You, me, a pile of books and a bathing suit."

" _A_ bathing suit?"

"Yes, one for me."

"And me?"

I give Myka a quick one over and a smile, swiftly angling myself more into her personal space. "You won't be needing one." I bestow a chaste kiss to her right cheek before standing up and heading back to the bookshelves to peruse the titles.

* * *

The restaurant is crowded when we arrive, many people waiting for a table. Patrons push against me en route to the front door, wait staff brushes by me heading to and from the kitchen. Myka gives me a look conveying not to be alarmed, warmly touching my arm before asking me to wait to the side when she goes up to the podium. She talks to the man, vigorously pointing to the reservation book in front of him, then gesturing towards me as she speaks with him. I must have a confused look on my face because when Myka and I finally make eye contact, that glint of annoyance that was there softens and she smiles so sweetly at me, I might melt. She turns back to the man, now more relaxed and casual, looking as though she's apologizing for whatever had transgressed between the two. Myka beckons me over to the podium as she takes a few steps following the maitre d' with menus.

He motions to an intimate corner booth where we both sit down. Despite the rambunctious sounds from the front of the restaurant, it's quiet here and thanks to the sides of the booth, we can't see anyone else and they can't see us. 

"I said I wanted somewhere quiet." Myka says as she removes her jacket. The host tries to take it from her, but she quickly declines and places it beside her on her left. A couple tealights illuminate the small space as shadows flicker across Myka's face.

Myka sits a space or two away from me, then assesses her position, realizing it's too far from me. I again take delight in watching her think through her next action (something i have had the privilege of seeing her do multiple times already today) as she pauses to look at the space between us, finally scooting herself beside me into a rather secluded section of the booth. Myka's head tilts down as well to look at how we are physically close to one another. Her finger reaches out to my leg where she traces what would feel to be a small heart above my knee, then quickly retreats to pick up the menu.

"Hungry?" she asks, not looking up from the menu as she skims it.

I playfully nudge her and eye over her shoulder. I have a perfectly good menu in front of me, but it's far more delightful to look over her shoulder to read and casually Myka positions the menu and herself closer to me. We select our dinners and Myka chooses a bottle of red wine, delightfully mentioning how she has absolutely no idea about wine, but her selection ought to pair nicely with red meat. Regardless, I trust her instincts on that. Until the food comes out, we chat about the Warehouse: Claudia's inventions, Pete's never-ending quest to find the ultimate chocolate chip cookie, Steve's resilience at remaining completely calm with those two around. Myka really doesn't talk about herself, only alludes to different things she has done in relation to everyone else.

Halfway through our meal, I come to the distinct realization that the two of us are on a date. That we've actually been on a date since we woke up this morning, granted we sort of started this date at what would traditionally be the end with the recollection of Myka's wandering hand. I don't know if Myka knows it: perhaps? Both of us are eating, happily divvying our plates to sample what the other is having. We talked about going away somewhere together, just the pair of us. Somewhere quiet, secluded, luxurious, away from everything. 

I realize: I don't care. I don't care if Myka thinks we're on a date or what all of this sublime day together has meant. I mean, I do care and I'd love to know, but right now this is perfect. I'm perfectly smitten.

After dinner, we keep wandering around the city, walking by the Bay, looking at seals popping their heads up and down and gulls flying a little too close for my comfort. I squawk a couple times one approaches my head, jumping towards Myka and clutching her arm.

She laughs at my misfortune, pulling me closer to her as a means of "protecting" me. I see another couple, a man and a woman, walk past us, not even bothering to stare at Myka holding me so intimately and closely. When I start to pull away, remembering we're in public, she keeps me from backing away and holds me to her. "Helena, it's alright." she assures me in a soft tone.

I've never truly been anywhere "alright," definitely never experienced anything this. No one is interested in Myka holding my hand like this, no one seems to care. I take a deep breath and grasp her hand in mine. Without saying another word, we head back to the hotel, hand-in-hand and content.

Just as we would end all or evenings at Leena's, Myka boils some water to make us tea. I get the impression she merely wants to show off her fine tea-making skills for me and how much they've improved since we last spent time together.

The couch is large enough to accommodate both of us. We lay down on the couch together, completely exhausted by an afternoon of walking around. Myka pulls an orange fuzzy blanket over us as we curl up together. Given how we woke up this morning and our cozy dinner together, I press my bottom more into her hips; Myka gasps at the contact and halts breathing. My motion is (hopefully) a clear invitation, one that hopefully she will accept. A hesitant hand goes atop my hip, taps the fabric there and then completely presses down to grip me. Moments later, she drapes her arm fully over me as she pulls me close.

"This is nice." Myka whispers into my ear. Her hand smooths over my shirt, just around my navel.

"It is." 

Myka somehow manages to pull me closer to her, pressing my back fully against her body with the confidence that what she's doing is appealing to me. She's not apprehensive now, she's not afraid of being cuddled up like this. It's altogether different from the woman with whom I woke up this morning, rather nervous and shy about that wandering hand.

We cuddle, watching TV, enjoying the body heat and relaxing in one another's presence. My chilly feet rest against her clothed calves, and she can no doubt still feel how cold they are through the fabric. Myka jumps a bit upon contact; however, eventually settles against me. It's perfectly comfortable to be so close to her.

"I haven't-" Myka pauses and lifts her hand just a little bit that I feel the slightest alleviated pressure from my stomach, "-held anyone like this in a really long time." 

I place my hand over hers, returning the pressure to my stomach. I tilt my head back to look at her face; Myka smiles, face illuminated by the television and she, very unexpectedly, leans over to kiss my cheek.

I angle back towards the TV and relax. Myka sniffles a couple times and holds me closely. Now, I have the perfect person with whom to share the comfortable silence.

When I realize it's been too silent, I look back at her only to see her eyes are shut, her mouth is slightly open and her nose breathes in and out these short breaths of air. As gently as possible, I rotate onto my back and then put an arm around her for balance. I prop myself up so I can reach Myka's cheek for a quick kiss, returning her earlier gesture. A small jolt runs through her body, her eyes panic for a moment until they make contact with my own and quickly soften. It doesn't take long for Myka's eyes to return a loving gaze at me.


End file.
